Walt Walkinshaw, who died on April 16 at age 93, epitomized the Northwest character, old school. He was an outdoorsman, a lawyer with a strong social conscience, and a passionate advocate of progressive causes. He was also modest as they come — such that his wife, the documentary filmmaker Jean, scarcely knew all he had done until she dug through his files. Fine man. Not enough of his sort left in these parts.
Walkinshaw came from a pioneering family, and he imbibed his love of the outdoors from his father, after whom a peak in the Olympics is named. Lakeside, U.W. (tennis team), George Washington University Law School, then the Navy in World War II (retiring as a commander). So far a pretty recognizable Seattle type.
But then the distinctive accomplishments began. He helped design a State Department program that laid the foundation for the U.S. Agency for International Development and the Peace Corps. In pushing for these groundbreaking ideas, he also tried to alert Congress and President Truman to the devastating effects of Sen. Joseph McCarthy on the State Department. He had the same seminal effect on the state's medical institutions, serving for years at attorney for the Washington State Hospital Association and writing far-seeing legislation such as licensing nurse practitioners, right to die, and hospital-physician relationships. He had a long association with the Riddell Williams lawfirm.
"What is remarkable to me, is that Walt was always ahead of the curve," noted a good friend and fellow member (for 40 years) of The Monday Club. "One only need read his papers to understand the breadth, depth, and scope of this true, thinking Renaissance man."
His many friends remember him most of all for his avid fly-fishing, which lead to all manner of crusades for preserving animal habitat and recreation areas. He steered clients to creating the Nisqually Delta wetlands, for instance, so give Walt a quiet salute next time you drive by those lovely delta meadows. What he started, he stuck with for years: being the founding secretary of ACT Theater turned into a 35-year commitment.
The other celebrated traits were modesty and honesty. Both came so naturally to him, along with his sweet smile and tenderness toward his wife, that they seemed effortless as his perfect fly-fishing casts. His longtime friend, fellow attorney and devoted civic servant Stimson Bullitt, wrote to Walkinshaw in a letter of tribute:
You are the only person I've known for whom I thought ethical decisions were not hard — that on coming to a moral fork in the road, you would take the right one without breaking stride.
